SHANK Casanova Frankenstein, Blue
RAJA[H], with a spoon! Fiesty
PIXIE, Carol the Bowler, has your back,
COBRA—no, remember, it’s a skull—in her bowling ball.
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Ingrates
TRYST, two lover’s last on outbreak’s eve, they soon entombed.
MOUND, for burial of the city’s dead arriving too fast for single graves.
SPREE of death eventually births antidote’s invention.
SERUM!—One generation would have danced at its arrival. This one scoffs.
Tryst
TRYST evidence in abundance:
MOUND of disheveled sheets,
SPREE of food and drink laced with the
SERUM of self.
Vassal
BOSSY hands conducting a circular cacophonous symphony.
BLOCK out the noise if you can, and make the
CLOCK your servant rather than your
LIEGE.
Tyranny of Clocks
CLOCK doles time, portioned out in ticks, serves as
BOSSY metronome overtakes all time’s tempo,
LIEGE lord of a time-bound race, counts each subtracted second.
BLOCK ticks! Breathe—seize back time’s unmeasured moments.
Unexpected(ly better)
LOWER the gurney gently, faithful
UNION of porters; all five hearts receive a
FLOOD of unchecked mercy and invitations to
PARTY with the Host.
Apocalypsis
LOWER down, in Johnstown, all seems calm.
UNION is going on 113, war survived, injustice re-submerged;
PARTY, faction, a steady equilibrium of peace?
FLOOD bursts as a sign; submerged may see the light, bad structures can fall.
Justice Delayed Will Yet Arrive
GAVEL in last judgment, Judge! You will not be partial;
MOGUL in the dock cannot inflate importance or
DEIGN self as exception to what is good.
WRECK those who, unchecked, did not turn and plead for grace.
The Rhythm
SCOPE of poem? Uncertain, but not to create cliché.
BLOKE, yes. Bohemian, yes. Musician, yes.
ROACH—no. So, what’s he high on? Life? This poem does not know.
BONGO? It’s the focus here: the rhythm’s about to start.
A Jumbled Composition
SPLAT, drone note of my life’s score.
SAVVY, tempo sometime signals upswing.
MORON, unwelcome annotation.
DROSS, common in this composition. Yet some notes true.